


Writing Snippets: Dragon Age

by Drawkwamai



Category: Dragon Age (Tabletop RPG), Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: LGBTQ Character, Multi, Writing Exercise, brief CW for violence and alcohol in certain snippets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-25 02:38:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16652689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drawkwamai/pseuds/Drawkwamai
Summary: A whole series of little snippets I've written in the past several months for my own Inquisitors, including some canon characters. A whole grab bag of content from shippy things to prompt memes and such. Mainly focusing on my canon Inquisitor, Darva Lavellan, and my tabletop RPG boy Dimitri Enallasani.





	1. Writing Snippet #1

“Did Corphyeus not mention what I did to the Breach?” Dimitri speaks with no hidden anger in his voice, electricity dancing just below the skin on his finger tips. One good blast, one good shot, and he would be nothing but a smear on the stones. Dimitri had done it before and this would not be the last time.

“Yes he did,” Erimond sneers like a snake with a grin in his tone, “he also noted what he did to you at Haven.” His grin spreads across his lips and he extends his hand, red magic igniting the Mark within Dimitri’s palm.

It burns like fire, but it always burns that way. He's had months with this strange intruder to his body, causing disasters of pain. The licking flames race up his arm and into his ear, bending it as it sinks its teeth into him, threatening to swallow him whole. The pain burns his side and lungs, short circuiting the breath in his lungs. He gasps, eyes slamming closed and he can’t feel his fingers; his arm jerks and his hand spasms....But this pain? Dimitri is no stranger to worse.

Templars could do worse, Mages could do worse…he could—and has—done worse to himself.

Dimitri opens his eyes and Erimond stands expectantly, like one would look if they thought the magic would make him fall. He would fall to his knees before the magister and beg for mercy from the pain. Oh how he would love to watch the pain make him cry, to lower him before his feet. Make him beg for life and forgiveness.

But even when the brand was pressed to his skull and the slow cold wash of indifference came over him, he did not bow--he did not heel. Dimitri wasn't built to take the orders of others.

A soft chuckle escapes Dimitri's lips and he gives the man a murderous grin, waving his hand and arm as if nothing about it hurts.

“You’ll have to do better than that.”


	2. Writing Snippet #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on how someone asked me once when Dimitri and Bull first said "I love you" out loud to each other.

Dimitri slipped the bracers onto his forearms, easily guiding the straps into their buckles to pull the metal tight against his gloves. He fussed with them for a moment, carefully judging the tightness and placement for errors. Outside he could hear the soldiers speaking, their voices layering over each other into the sound of a crowd. They each went about their duties: some securing the camp, securing their weapons, recieving their orders…others filled the camp with the pounding of hammers upon metal, and yelling instructions as the final checks on siege equipment was made. All were shaping tools of war—all making its construction. The march to the Arbor Wilds had been a task, but it was soon to be done with. It wasn’t long before the troops would meet on the field and the race to beat Corphyeus would begin.

He sighed through his nose when he heard the tent flap open—despite the wind already flapping the tent walls about—and Iron Bull stepped inside, skirting the pole in the center as he walked closer. He already had his own kit on, his bracers still decorated with the engravings Dimitri would do in his idle time. He carried his own helmet, setting it upon the table next to Dimitri’s helm.

Dimitri turned back to his gear, pulling the breastplate from the table.

“Help me?” He asked Bull and the man didn’t hesitate, pulling the leather straps around to the back to secure them once Dimitri fitted the plate in place. Dimitri’s eyes scittered across the map on the table, the battleplans drawn out on top of it. They had gone over the plan dozens and dozens of times, but he was still thinking of it. 

How could he not?

“Cullen said the forces were nearly ready. Perfect formation.” Bull spoke like a calming rumble in the storm and Dimitri hummed, adjusting his feet as Bull pulled sharply on the straps to make sure it held in place.

“Good. They’re needed at their best.” Dimitri replied idly, pulling his heavy jacket from the table to slip across his shoulders.

“They’ve been at their best; been a long time coming and they’ve trained for this day.” Bull spoke as he smoothed the jacket, fussing with the straps and placement. “Don’t forget that, Kadan.”

Dimitri sighed softly, grabbing the waist wrap from the table—the last piece of armor. The last piece before the world outside came crashing in. He turned back to Bull; fear, confusion, worry, and apprehensiveness all crossed his dark, scarred face—emotions he couldn’t show to the soldiers outside. They needed him strong and proud; he needed to beat Corphyeus here…or the world they had been fighting to save would be lost entirely.

Bull took the wrap from his hands and carefully worked at wrapping it around his waist, cinching it with a knot at his hip. Before he let go, Dimitri took his hand and gently kissed his knuckles, his lips trembling softly even as he forced a smile. A small reassuring smile rose to Bull’s face and he gently cupped Dimitri’s face, leaning down so his forehead rested against his.

All manner of silent words passed between them as the dull roar outside grew stronger, an indication things were on the move.

“I love you.”

Dimitri spoke softly, a tremble in his voice. Bull pulled away and he opened his mis-matched eyes to look up at him. Bull met his gaze and he silently kissed his forehead, his nose, then his lips. Maybe the last farewell they would get.

The last chance Dimitri would get to say it out loud. They both knew it, even as it went unsaid. But Dimitri needed to know Bull had heard it—that he meant it. Even after the Fade and the troubles it wrought upon Dimitri’s head and the closure…he meant it when he said he loved him.

“Kadan.”

Dimitri smiled at Bull’s word—my heart—and he pulled away. Just then, one of the guard peered in.

“The Commander is ready.”

The tent flap closed and Dimitri straightened up, a mask of a leader falling across his face. He pulled the cloth cover over his head, adjusting it to hide his hair. He grabbed his staff from its nearby stand, the focus crackling to life with fire and electricity. He pulled the helmet from the table as well and—with one last smile to Bull—he pulled it over his head and strode out of the tent.

This was the day they fought. This was the day they finished it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You always kinda have a very, very soft spot for certain characters paired with others and holy heck these two are my big soft spot. I didn't think of the pair of them together as being a thing at first, but I played the romance through and holy heck I can't think of them with anyone else.


	3. Writing Snippet #3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My canon Inquisitor, Darva, ended up leaving the clan several years before the start of the game and...proceeded to get himself in trouble for gambling, racking up debts, and running card game cons. Had to put his rogue skills to use somewhere.  
> \--  
> CW: alcohol, violence

Antiva City—9:33 Dragon

The musty air hung heavy with the smells of tobacco smoke and liquor, the smoke making lazy paths across the large wooden ceiling beams overhead. The only thing more dominating than that was the nearly unbearably loud combination of tavern music, drunken conversation and inevitable bellowing from the drunken patrons. All taverns were the same, no matter where one went. From Starkhaven to Ansburg—even places deep in the seedy parts of Antiva City—all had the same feel. The booze was cheap, the people numorous…and the perfect places to hide and make money. No one cared who you were in backwater places which made for easy money when it came to cheating at cards games and card tricks.

And Darva Lavellan was good at both.

He swung back another shot of some Antivan whiskey and he twitched his hands, his ears wiggling under his hood before he sneezed. The cinnamon always made his nose runny.

The bartender came up and looked between him and his cup before Darva shook his head. Two was enough for one night. He passed two silver off to the bartender with a flick of his wrist and the man expertly tucked the coins into a secret pouch inside his shirt before he slinked off to his paying customers. Not like Darva wasn’t paying for a room upstairs, but drinks got rid of their money faster and two was enough for Darva.

Darva cleared his throat, turning in his seat at the bar to look around at the tavern. A few bar maids passed between tables, refilling drinks for the men who seemed to frequent this place after their work. Many had strong arms and big booming laughs; ones that could shake the whole establishment. And a whole crowd of them to boot. Dock workers or labors coming for a drink after work, Darva would’ve ventured a guess. He couldn’t see their hands from here, but he bet they were calloused.

Another group sat not too far away, keeping quietly to themselves; he hadn’t seen them in here before. By their cloaks and solidarity, they were probably a merc group stopped for the night. Would probably move on the in the morning to find work elsewhere. Darva couldn’t say who would be hiring mercs in the seedy underbelly of Antiva city. More likely to hire a thief than anything else.

Small groups and singles decorated the other old mismatched furniture, keeping to themselves or talking to each other. It only added to the loud din of the establishment. But next to the men was a minstrel not too far off; he had a lute strapped to his chest that he happily strummed upon and a small set of pan pipes dangled from a string upon his chest to play at will. He sang happily about something or another that the patrons nearest to him seeemed to be enjoying. It was pleasant enough from what Darva could hear over the other tavern sounds.

Another hoot and holler rose from the men as a tankcard slammed on the table, rattling the whole of ensemble of drinks and food atop the table. They were going to leave a mess, that was for sure.

One of them called for another round from a waitress and Darva watched her bring the drinks back around, setting each one down as she maneuvered from wandering hands. Smart girl…or perhaps more practical.

Called herself Talia, if Darva remembered right. She’d asked him what he was looking for when he came downstairs and he’d playfully teased about looking for her. She’d blown him off with a roll of her eyes and a smile meaning she knew he wasn’t serious. He’d given her a grin back from under his hood.

He still watched her and he paused tapping his foot to the rhythm of the music when one of the men grasped her wrist and held fast. He raised an eyebrow, but lowered it as she expertly twisted her grasp from his hold. He was getting too drunk to hold his liquor, much less anything else. He caught Talia’s gaze once she finished and she wandered over to him, ducking in and out of other bustling patrons. He turned as she tucked herself between him and the patron on the stool beside him. Her waist pressed against the sides of his knees tucked close to the bar and he could’ve easily reached out and touched her from their close proximity.

“You watching me now, elf?” Talia asked and he grinned from under the hood. At this vantage point, he sat higher than she stood, so she had full view under his hood at all the tattoos that decorated his face and the shape of his ears tucked back. But from this close he could see the sharp look to her golden brown eyes and the sharp turn of her nose that meant it had been broken before.

She could more than handle herself, that was for sure.That and the two knives tucked into her bra and along her bodice would do the trick.

“Would that be too presumptuous of me?” He asked and she laughed, the sound lost to anyone else in the bar but the two of them. The volume saw to that concern.

“Only if you were too drunk to defend my honor should it come to that.” She spoke in a mocking drawl and it was Darva’s turn to laugh.

“I am not too drunk to defend your honor, Talia. But it looks like you’re capable of taking care of yourself.” He told her with a genuine smile and her lips twisted into a smirk, her eyes searching his green ones inquisitively.

“I like you, boy.” She told him and he let out a soft chuckle.

“Most folks do. Now,” He waved his hand, “don’t hesistate if those men give you more trouble than they’re worth to you.” He told her before he sat back and she scooted away.

He returned his gaze to the bar, idly watching the patrons scurry in and out of each other’s way like some elaborate dance timed to the minstrels song. He watched and listened as the time wore on, groups and people moving like the tide through the tavern’s doors. The mercs moved upstairs, but were soon replaced by another group who looked much less shady. Merchants it would seem—local traders who had just enough coin for a drink each night. He spied several dwarves huddling in a corner at one point, whispering to each other. Some illegal matter, no doubt. Lyrium was to be traded or someone would die tonight; both not unusual. Darva swore he saw an escaped mage at one point if the bright purple and blue of the robe hidden under the cloak was any indication. But they didn’t stay for long; either a lack of money or something else threw them off.

Or more likely the laborers who showed no signs of leaving soon. They continued to get more and more drunk and continued to eat and eat. It must’ve been some sort of celebration, if Darva could venture an assumption. He watched Talia serve them round after round, dodging each and every touch from the men each time. It seemed some were turning it into a game of sorts: who could catch the pretty bar maid. He watched her put on a smile as they grabbed for her, but Darva knew better. But, she never ventured a pleading gaze his way to say she needed help.

All until the next round she passed around the table.

She deposited the last tankard upon the table when she was snatched up around the waist and pulled into one of the men’s laps. She tried to slink out of his touch her own ways, but he still held fast. Darva could see her asking for him to let her go and it only made them laugh. He watched as the man held her close and even grossly snuggle against her, pulling her tight. He tapped his toes against the rung on his stool, watching carefully as she looked towards him.

It was brief, but he saw the flash for help in her eyes.

He quickly stood and snuck through the people, not taking long to reach the table.

“Excuse me, good sir.” He spoke clearly from under his hood and the man turned sharply to face him, raising one drunken eyebrow. “I am very sorry to disturb you, but it would seem you would be most interested in a card trick or two. I am quite gifted in such matters of fancy finger work and you seem like a man to fancy such things, hm?” Darva spoke quickly to the drunken man and he seemed to only be getting half of the words.

“Would anyone else be interested?” He asked the table and he received a few nods of confusion and agreement. He grinned from under his hood and pulled his cards from his pack.

“Now, these are card tricks and such they require a little…added fun. Money as one could say; betting as a fancy man would say.” Darva spoke as he brushed aside various tankards and plates to make room at the center of the table. Darva carefully, but quickly explained the rules of the game to the men, quickly gazing about the table to spy on Talia. The drunken man holding her seemed to grow more enraptured with each second he spoke to them, thus his grip on Talia loosened more and more. She would be able to get out on her own in no time.

He continued going, cajoling the men into opening their coin pouches to throw in for a game or two. Darva carefully watched the men and his own spread of cards, making sure each trick was working out as it should. It wasn’t hard to run cons on very drunk men and to milk their coin from them either. Blurry eyes made for simple hand work, tucking cards into other piles, and into the sleeves of his shirt. Darva flipped and showed off his cards with a flourish over and over to reveal it was not the correct one each time. Each time the table protested as Darva collected their coins into his own pouch. Darva laughed as the men guessed and poked at what trick it could be and why they were losing so much, but they still kept playing.

Once the fun had worn out—and it never took long for it to run out on drunk men—Darva played the last hand that was once again a jest. The men yelled and protested, some calling for another round as he gathered up his cards and shuffled them, tucking the cards he’d be hiding and trading out in his shirt sleeves back into the deck where they belonged.

“Now, now settle down.” He spoke with a smile in his voice that seemed to calm the men. “You men still have a tab that needs paid; wouldn’t want to waste all of your money only to realize you’ll be paying off a debt to this tavern? What would your wives back home think of you?” He asked them, the astonishment in his tone enough to get their drunken minds thinking and talking amongst themselves. Darva took the chance and he slinked away from them and back to his seat….

Where Talia had planted herself, her arms crossed and shaking her head.

“You sure live up to the stereotype of a fast talking elf.” She spoke as he approached and he chuckled softly, pulling his hood back from his face completely. His ears wiggled a tiny bit and he ran his fingers through his curly brown hair.

“I have a standard to live up to, my dear.” He told her with a gracious wave of his hand and she giggled, turning the stool as he squeezed next to her.

“Oh, what prize does my dearest savior desire now?” She asked him expectantly and he scoffed.

“Now Talia….I only gave you the opportunity to slink away.” He spoke as he messed with the coin pouch out of sight of her. “But you made a good con possible. So….” Darva took Talia’s hand in his own, slipping half a dozen coins into her palm that he closed tightly. He gave her a brief smile and a nod of the head before he turned to slink into the crowd of the bar, disappear up the stairs.

Talia watched him go before she carefully looked down at the coins in her hand. Sure enough, seven good pieces were pressed into her hands. She clicked her tongue and tucked the coins into her shirt, adjusting herself. She raised an eyebrow as she felt something new pressing against the side of her breast. She carefully reached down, pulling a single playing card from her shirt.

A joker, in fact.

She flipped the card over, finding no other decerning marks upon the card. She snorted and shook her, but nonetheless tucked the card back where she had found it.

What a scoundrel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always wanted to get more of his time outside of the clan fleshed out and the kind of person he was when he didn't have the restrictions of the clan or the duties of the Inquisitor.


	4. Writing Snippet #4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for and a friend and I's characters where one was the quiz and the other was his romanced companion. Mainly fluffy bits of joy post-trespasser when they see each other again.

“The Du’Monchet family are still unwilling to make concessions to their lands.”

“What are they attempting to negotiate with now?”

“It seems as if they are pulling away from negotiations in the hope we will leave them to their estate.” Charolette–his assistant–spoke as Dimitri listened to her foot impatiently tap against the wooden floors.

“All thus fuss over two dozen acres of land?”

Dimitri drummed his fingers on the arm is his chair, picking at his lip with his teeth. His eyes narrowed as Charolette kept explaining the situation in frustrating detail. This family had caused nothing but trouble as Dimitri had worked to re-establish the Dales for the elves again. Concessions had to be made for everyone who had owned land within the areas, but it had been smooth sailing with Briala pressing upon the nobles along with Divine Victoria. Not as if many wanted the land back after the War between the Lions, but Orlesian’s held onto what they thought was theirs quite strongly. 

Especially in regards to elves.

They Du’Monchets had come up with dozens of excuses to not give up the land, but each one had checked out and thus the land couldn’t be acquired by legal means. They didn’t have the manpower to take it by force and they weren’t keen to ruin their reputation by resorting to such tactics. But each detail of the story and excuse could be used to find a hole in their argument. Anyone of worth in the Game had the sense for it….and the Du’Monchet family was well versed in the Game. Thus, the process needed extreme detail even if it was nearly driving Dimitri to pull out his hair.

He could hear Aether’s voice in his head, reminding him he needed to take breaks and take his medication when he got especially worn out. But Dimitri’s husband was neither here nor there to scold him….or to lean on when things got tough. But Dimitri knew better than to ask Aether to stay when so many people required him and the road suited him better than a gilded estate. Still, the pain of not having him near was too acute for comfort most days.

Suddenly, the door bursted open and Dimitri nearly jumped out of his skin, magic sparking at his fingertips.

“Lord Enallasani!” He recognized the voice as one of the messenger boys and he could see the faint outline of the boy at the door. Even with the medication and glasses, the invasion of the Mark had cost him much of his vision.

“Yes, dear boy?” Charolette spoke in a tired tone and Dimitri could sense the regret off the boy. Charolette was a severe woman and excellent at her job of telling people when Dimitri was not available, regardless of how urgent the business was, thankyouverymuch!

“A man named Aether arrived not too long ago!” Dimitri immediately perked up. He wasn’t due back for another two weeks at the most if his letter was any indication of his intentions. “He, uh, he insisted on seeing you as soon as he could and, uh….w-well, I think I panicked and raced here as fast as I could, and-and—“ the boy continued to speak in a panic before Dimitri waved his hand to quiet him.

“You’re fine…” Dimitri spoke as he stood, taking his cane in his free hand. “But If you would be so kind as to accompany me to meet Aether? I would like to see him with all haste.” Dimitri gestured in front of him to have the young man walk; he quickly nodded and turned to walk ahead.

Dimitri watched and listened to the boy as his paced varied, seemingly unsure if he could keep pace through the menagerie of hallways within the estate. He didn’t blame the boy considering his age and how he must’ve been new to the estate. He’d have to make sure Charolette didn’t reprimand him harshly for interrupting.

More pressing issues filled his head as they arrived in the entrance hall; Dimitri waved the boy off as he took the stairs in stride, taking a moment to pick Aether out. But, nonetheless he could pick the man out of a crowd even now if he had to. He was only partially blind and in the years at Aether’s side he’d taken to memorizing every detail of the man.

“Back so soon?” Dimitri spoke as he approached and Aether quickly turned to face him, his own lips turning to a bright smile. His eyes lit up with fondness reserved only for him. 

“I thought you might be missing me.” He spoke in kind and Dimitri chuckled as Aether wove his fingers into his and pulled him close. Dimitri easily stepped into the embrace, holding him tight.

“Vhenan,” Dimitri spoke as he gently pulled away, seeing just enough to tuck a lock of loose golden hair behind Aether’s ear. His hand cradled his cheek softly, gently pressing his forehead to his. “Any time you are away from me, I miss you.”

He grinned as Aether’s face flushed and he pulled him close again, leaning in to press his lips against his. Dimitri hardly objected, adding another feeling to the list of ones he would miss twice as much when Aether would leave yet again.

“Thankfully, this is more than a brief visit.” Aether spoke as he pulled away, his arms still wrapped around Dimitri’s waist.

“Well….” Dimitri spoke in a warm tone, his smile even brighter. “Welcome home, Vhenan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff just be like that


End file.
